I have come to the borders of sleep, |
The unfathomable deep |
Forest where all must lose |
Their way, however straight, |
Or winding, soon or late ; |
They cannot choose.
|
Many a road and track |
That, since the dawn’s first crack, |
Up to the forest brink, |
Deceived the travellers, |
Suddenly now blurs, |
And in they sink.
|
Here love ends, |
Despair, ambition ends ; |
All pleasure and all trouble, |
Although most sweet or bitter, |
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter |
Than tasks most noble.
|
There is not any book |
Or face of dearest look |
That I would not turn from now |
To go into the unknown |
I must enter, and leave, alone, |
I know not how.
|
The tall forest towers ; |
Its cloudy foliage lowers |
Ahead, shelf above shelf ; |
Its silence I hear and obey |
That I may lose my way |
And myself.
|
Edward
Thomas |
Classic Poems |
|
[ Adlestrop ] [ In Memoriam (Easter, 1915) ] [ Lights Out ] [ Out in the Dark ] [ The New House ] [ The Owl ] |